


The dirt

by swallowingSwords



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Bro, Ambiguous aged Dave, But nondescript?, It's really short, M/M, My literal first and probably only post, Poetry, Really just sad, for dave, that I wrote at 2 am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-18 00:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11279583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swallowingSwords/pseuds/swallowingSwords
Summary: Sometimes dirt clings like it has nails, digging into your skin and holding onto you like it doesn't want to be forgotten.~~~Dave's one of my favorite characters, so it's only natural that I write a short poem about one of the worst moments of his life. It's inspired by the disgust I feel when looking back on my own experiences. But of course I use the word "inspired" for a reason. It's simply based off some... things that went down.Maybe it's a way for me to try move past it all, in sort of a non-personal way, but if you guys like hearing about your favorite characters' hurt as much as I do, you can read it too.Tell me if I missed any tags, or information you feel is necessary. Sorry if I made you feel down with my justification for writing this, but I guess if you're here, you're looking to feel a little sad. Tell me how you liked it, too. Maybe I'll begin writing fics or something.





	The dirt

There once was a boy with blond hair,  
And skin that was freckled and fair,  
And as he got older, his world got much colder,  
And warm moments at home got more rare.

He wore glasses to shield each red eye  
And himself from his guardian's lie  
On how life was a game of irony and pain,  
Where none of the cool guys cry.

And one night in the dark, quiet dim  
Lighting of his room laid just him,  
But his guardian snuck close, caught him by the throat,  
And then wormed his way up inside him.

And all he could feel was the dirt  
That clung to his skin, and that hurt,  
At the risk of being called lame, he cried, feeling something within him, had died,  
And his childhood was fractured and curt.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I feel like I want to apologize, but know I kind of shouldn't.


End file.
